Karen

Running

Plo remembered screams, even more than running. Mom and dad left before dawn. He played at the creek with friends. Just after first light, shouts and shots erupted from the village above. He ran up the bank, crawled beneath the house and peered out between bamboo stilts. Soldiers appeared, a long, green line oozing from between jungle trees. More shots, many shots cracked thorn sharp beating rhythm for the chorus of screams.

New smoke, bullet smoke spread evil vapor that stung eyes and nose. Coordinated squads broke from the main line, spread between houses and bunched fleeing villagers into a swelling herd. Some escaped. Most were caught. Methodically, the soldiers culled old folks with single shots, drug young women off by hair or hand, and pushed the able-bodied into a dense knot. Fortunate resistors received bullet or bayonet. Others drew special attention - skulls mashed flat by rifle butt or drenched with boiling water until scalp and skin peeled away.

Concealed behind the duck pen under the house, Plo watched. Helpless disbelief froze his eyes open and nailed him in place. Finally, shrieking’s sheer weight ejected him backwards from cover, propelled him over the bank and down the path.

For years Plo’s people, the Karen (kah-REN) of southeastern Burma, fled, throwing together crude villages whenever they could pause. Sometimes they stayed in one place for months, other times only weeks. Twice a year, as the weather cleared, Burmese soldiers hunted. When they came to a Karen village they killed, enslaved - or worse. They burned homes, destroyed farms and salted the fields with landmines. Then, just before the rains returned, the soldiers retreated to the dry comfort of their bases. Karen survivors, on the other hand, sought refuge deeper into the jungles and higher up the mountains. Finally, many spilled over the border into neighboring Thailand.

Karen People

For centuries, the Karen people lived culturally similar, but politically unconnected lives in southeast Burma’s mountainous jungles. Historians speculate they migrated from western China in the 1100’s. But, they astounded Baptist missionary, Adoniram Judson, in the early 1800’s when he found them “strangely prepared.” The Karen welcomed him as the returning “younger white brother” with the “lost books” as promised in their own prophesies. Don Richardson explores their story in his book, Eternity in Their Hearts. The Wikipedia article, Adoniram Judson, states:

“The core of what they called their "Tradition of the Elders" was a belief in an unchangeable, eternal, all-powerful God, creator of heaven and earth, of man, and of woman formed from a rib taken from the man. They believed in humanity's temptation by a devil, and its fall, and that some day a messiah would come to its rescue. They lived in expectation of a prophecy that white foreigners would bring them a sacred parchment roll.”

No one knows for sure whether they contacted the Jews or Nestorians before their migration. But whatever the source, Judson, his Karen convert, Ko Tha Byu, and the missionaries that followed enjoyed more than a century of fruitful ministry. Today, 30-40% of the Karen declare themselves to be Christians while the others remain Buddhist or Animist.

As an unanticipated consequence of so many Karen choosing to follow Christ, the Karen people developed their own orthography and, subsequently, a sense of Karen nationhood. This put them at odds with Burmese rulers busy consolidating their dominance of surrounding tribes while also fending off British colonialism.

Promised independence by World War II’s victors, the Karen formed their own state called, Kawthoolei (Flower land). But they fell victim to political intrigue when Burma absorbed the fledgling country in 1949. Decades of oppression followed that finally led to the “four eight” uprising on August 8, 1988. However, the stronger Burmese military swept the Karen from their lands, then systematically enslaved, tortured or exterminated all they could catch. Today, 400 thousand Karen live in Thailand (some Karen lived in Thailand earlier), leaving another 7 million still on the run in Burma.

The Karen’s prophecies also foretold persecution and dispersion. And, for the Karen hunted as vermin or exiled, those words came to pass. But, the same predictive words also carried what seemed either a promise or else a cruel taunt. Their national anthem says that the Karen people will carry the “…gospel message to every sea and land.” How could that happen? Those not fleeing for their lives remained virtual prisoners. They accumulated no money, wielded no influence, nor enjoyed the liberty to go where and when they wished.

Soft Prison

Today the Karen refugees who fled to Thailand live in Externally Displaced Persons (EDP) camps spread along the border with Myanmar (Burma). Currently, seven Karen camps are:

• Mae La Oon
• Mae Ra Ma Luang
• Mae La
• Umpiem Mai
• Nu Po
• Ban Don Yang
• Tham Hin

Mae La, the largest, houses 30-40 thousand people, according to official count. However, knowledgeable sources place the total at closer to 50 thousand because new refugees joining family, delay registering with the authorities. Founded nearly 25 years ago, Mae La is also the oldest camp. An entire generation has come of age knowing only these camps as home. Many residents say they feel doomed to languish in these camps, never finding their own home or freedom to pursue life.

 

In the mid 1990’s the International Organization for Migration (IOM www.iom.int) began resettling Karen refugees from the Thai EDP camps into 11 willing host countries:

• Australia
• Canada
• Denmark
• Finland
• Ireland
• Netherlands
• New Zealand
• Norway
• Sweden
• United Kingdom
• USA

First dozens, then hundreds, then thousands found themselves in new homes, new cultures and new lives.

A typical family spends ten months complying with the resettlement procedures. First they must complete the application forms. Then, if they meet IOM and their chosen host country’s initial criteria, the International Rescue Committee (IRC www.theirc.org/) interviews the family. Next, the proposed host country’s agencies conduct further interviews. Finally, the entire family receives a communicable disease screening. If approved, they participate in three to five-day cultural orientation courses shortly before leaving the camps for the last time. Thailand issues each person a travel document in lieu of a passport. This certificate grants one-time, one-way exit privileges. The only way they may ever return is under the covering of a passport from their adopted host country.

This forces a difficult decision upon each Karen family that reaches safety in Thailand. Do they remain in the refugee camp as potential aide for extended family and friends still hiding in Burma? Or do they opt for the demanding, but promising chance of a new life free of persecution and virtual imprisonment?

School Path

"Boys," Plo’s father said one night in 1995. "The soldiers come too close. We may have to run again."

Plo and his brother hopped up bouncing the entire split-bamboo floor. They scurried into the cooking fire’s light and struck a pose, fists on hips, chins up. "We're ready. Those old soldiers can't catch us!"

One corner of Father’s mouth turned up a bit. “I’m sure they can’t, but…”

"No, it's too dangerous," Mom spat while shaking her head slowly. She started to speak again, but stopped and turned to her husband.

“What’s too dangerous?” they asked together.

"School.”

“School?”

Father took a deep breath. “We're sending you across the river. To Thailand." he said. "It takes only a day to reach the school in Mae Kaw Sala." He too stopped, looked out the window at a crescent moon silhouetting the ridge between them and the river. The palm fronds just outside the window bobbed in a night breeze, like clawed hands reaching, searching… "Yes, only a day," he continued still looking away. After a moment he turned back, knelt down to face them and said, "You can come home every weekend - depending on the river, of course."

Eight years later he faced high school graduation.  “What am I going to do next?” he wondered aloud. His friend sitting next to him at lunch said, "You should go to KKBBSC in Mae La, Thailand."

Plo looked up from his rice bowl. The afternoon heat had diminished enough to allow some appetite to return. His toes searched the dirt in front of the stool for a cooler spot. "Why would I want to do that?"

"The school is good. They teach the Bible. And you can even learn English."

“English?”

“Yes, English. You’re always talking about learning it. Here’s your chance.”

“But, I have no sponsor. And, no money. None” Plo protested. “I haven't even applied.” “Besides,” he added, “I don't know about doing all that preaching stuff. There's got to be something else."

“Like what?” his friend asked.

Plo studied his bowl again. He pushed a finger through rice in hunt of a hiding meat chunk. He said nothing, but thought, “Yeah, like what?”

A few weeks later, no answer had yet appeared. His friend persisted, challenging Plo nearly every day. One hot afternoon Plo waved his arms high overhead and burst out, "Ok, ok, I'll apply! Are you happy now?"

His friend said nothing and only smiled slightly.

"You know they won't take me, don't you?” Plo continued. “You'll see. It'll be a wasted trip."

KKBBSC

Burmese attacks on the Karen State (Kawthoolei) in the 1970’s cut off the Karen Baptist churches in Kawthoolei from their Baptist counterparts in the rest of Burma. To meet new ministry candidate training needs, the Karen Baptist churches of Kawthoolei founded their own Bible school.

The Kawthoolei Karen Baptist Bible School & College (KKBBSC https://sites.google.com/site/kkbbsc/) opened June 9th, 1983 in the village of Tea Ka Haw, Kawthoolei with 4 teachers and 6 students. But, further attacks forced the school to relocate to the village of Wallei, Kawthoolei. The school flourished there until the Burmese military destroyed that village and the school in the late 1980’s. It reopened at the Mae La Refugee camp in Thailand in June of 1990 with 9 teachers and 40 students.

Today, the school boasts 36 teachers and 255 students pursuing a 4-year, accredited curriculum. The faculty offers classes in two language tracks - Karen and English. They focus on reaching the nations for Christ - literally. To prepare the students to minister in foreign lands, KKBBSC starts by teaching them to reach their own people. Every year, the school celebrates “Sweet December.” For the entire month, they suspend academic classes and send student teams out to minister. Some teams visit residents of the camps. Others teams travel to Thai Karen villages near the camps. And some teams make the dangerous journey back across the river into Burma. They risk death by bullet or mine to take the Good News to their own people hiding in the jungle.

At KKBBSC the registrar asked Plo, “How do you intend to support yourself and cover school expenses, too?”

Plo answered with an honest shrug, “I have no idea.”

“You brought no money with you?” the registrar raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“No, none.”

“Isn’t there anyone here in Mae La you can stay with?”

“No.”

The official tapped the pencil in his right hand on the application form resting before him, thought for several moments, then said, “We don’t normally do this, but I will give you a conditional acceptance if you pay the fees on the first day of class.”

“Thank you,” Plo nodded. “But I don’t know who can help me?”

“What about your parents? Can they help you?”

“They’re still in Burma. I don’t think so.”

“Have you ever asked them?” the registrar queried.

“Well…no, I haven’t.”

“You might consider trying. You have until the first day.”

Plo’s father and mother raised their children in a Christian home and Plo recalled baptism as a child. But, he never considered attending Bible school much less entering the ministry as vocation. Nonetheless, he made the difficult journey back to his parent’s home in Burma where his father surprised him by agreeing to help with living and tuition expenses. So, still uncertain, Plo moved to Mae La Camp, Thailand in 2003.

When Plo began his studies little vision motivated him past gaining a diploma. “Besides,” he thought, “What else can I do?” However, as he studied the Bible and learned more about God, he gradually came to understand both his own desperate need for rescue, and Jesus’ great ability to save. That brought him great peace. But, he still did not know what to do after graduation.

Stories

Four years later, Plo received the news too late. Seniors in the English language study track could participate in a five-day story-telling workshop. He’d already made promises for the first two days. The last three days were all he could do. But, “story telling?” he wondered to himself. How could story-telling instruction fill five days? The Karen already knew how to tell stories. Still, foreigners were coming to teach and he liked hearing about the outside world.

A missionary, “Joe” [not his real name], who often helped the Karen people, brought the small group of instructors to Mae La camp in November 2008. Directed by a woman, Regina Manley, from an aviation mission group, Plo quickly discerned this class was different. The instructors opened familiar Bible stories in an entirely new way. And, Plo had to participate. No sitting back, trolling the lecture stream for potential exam points.

Regina and her team demonstrated five simple steps. First, they taught how to learn a Bible story in ten minutes well enough to share with someone else. “Use your own words,” they said, “but tell the story accurately. Don’t leave anything out and never add in what’s not in the original.”

Second, the storyteller invited someone from the audience to retell as much of the story as they remembered. “The goal” Regina said, “is not a perfect repeat nor is it to embarrass anyone. Instead, your listeners will be reviewing the story in their own minds both hearing things they missed the first time around, and noting what the volunteer forgets.”

The instructors called the third step a “lead-through” and made a motion like leading an ox with a rope for emphasis. In this step the presenter repeated the story again, but left out key names or actions. He or she then invited the audience to say aloud what he omitted.

Fourth, they asked a series of simple questions that led the listeners to discover all sorts of spiritual truths for themselves - no experts required.

Finally, in the fifth step, the instructors demonstrated the culmination - applying discovered truth to everyday, personal life.

Right away Plo saw the possibilities. He could use this kind of story telling to teach both children and adults. He could even use it for his preaching assignments. Telling stories required a little work perhaps, but was fun. However, the discussions that followed the instructor’s questions astounded him. He felt like he only now discovered a water buffalo that had always been on the path. How could mere handfuls of verses hide so much in plain sight? But, learning to ask questions the way the instructors did was, indeed, a bird of a different color. And, the answer to his big question still eluded him.

Plo’s Sweet December

Sweet December arrived quickly and Plo crossed the river into Burma with his team. Almost immediately the leader assigned him to a Sunday school class. “What lesson are you going to teach?” someone asked.

“Actually, I’d like to tell a story.” Plo responded. “Anyone interested?”

Children crowded around him and he began a story he learned in the workshop. But as he talked, he also thought, I have no idea what questions to ask. What am I going to do?

Neither answer nor inspiration appeared while he spoke, nor during a brave young lady’s retell, and finally he was taking them through the story’s facts with the lead-through. Still nothing. He asked, “Do you understand the meaning of the story?”

The kids said, “Yes, we understand.”

Plo continued with only the first three steps all month. He felt bad not asking questions like he’d seen in the workshop. But, he didn’t want to ruin the stories. When he returned to Mae La camp near the end of December 2008, however, he realized he helped 22 non-believers meet Jesus.

High Water

Plo traveled to Burma once more to help a Bible teacher in the summer of 2009 and took advantage of the opportunity to visit his parents for a week. Afterwards, he returned to Mae La. Two days later he received word that said, “Your father died.”

Plo responded to the messenger, “No, my father is healthy, he is not sick. I just saw him.” He’d started a special root preparation that morning and couldn’t stop in the middle without ruining the whole batch. He thought, The message is just another rumor born in fertile imaginations isolated in rugged jungle. My father is a strong leader in his IDP (Internally Displaced Person) camp in Burma. Certainly he’s fine.

Later that day, the Vice Principal of the college found him. “Plo,” he said, “Yes, you should believe that your father passed away.”

Immediately, Plo and his brother struggled back to their parent’s camp to investigate. In the few days since he last passed that way, the river rose so high that boat travel was dangerous. When they finally reached home, they learned the truth. Their father was dead. But, no one knew why.

One man told of trying to talk to him in the afternoon. “Your father seemed asleep,” he said. “The next morning when I returned, I tried to wake him again. That’s when I realized that he must have died in the night.”  Hazardous river conditions forced Plo and his brother to take only three friends on the short, but difficult trip to bury their father.

Purpose

Plo heard that Regina and “Joe” planned a return to Mae La to conduct another workshop in early November of 2009. After completion, they wanted to move to the more remote, Mae La Oon camp to work with the 50 remote KKBBSC students there. Regina asked Plo if he would help teach at both workshops. Plo agreed, thinking, “Perhaps if I study the method again, I can share God’s stories with even more people.

During the second workshop Plo suddenly grasped how much the Lord had changed him. He no longer stopped searching once he’d covered the surface of God’s Word. Now, the stories drew him, compelling him to dive deeper. To his surprise, he found the inside of the stories far larger and richer than the outside. As he kept meeting Jesus in new ways the questions became obvious. He had only to ask about what he saw happening in the story.

Finally, in the evening after the last class, Plo sat in the Mae La Oon dormitory with the instructors preparing for tomorrow’s graduation ceremony. The day’s heat clung to the tabletop, but he leaned on his forearms anyway, head down considering his next words. The one-cylinder generator chug-chugged in the dark. Moths fluttered about the single, pulsing florescent lamp hanging from a bamboo cross-brace. The invitation to become a permanent story-telling instructor hung in the air, unanswered. Everyone remained silent, waiting for him to respond.

“The pastors in Burma asked me to come and minister with them,” Plo said softly. He raised his head, looked around then said, “And, I’ve already told them yes, I would come. I gave them my word. I did ask them to give me time to study at seminary in the Philippines. I told them that surely I will come back when I have more knowledge. I will not forsake you, not forget you. I promise. And now,” he grinned, “I have stories, too.”